


I don't wanna miss a thing.

by Royalrastafariannaynays



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Love, M/M, Marine Corps, Oneshot, Reunions, Romantic Fluff, So Married, i guess, i know nothing about the marines or armed forces, i will say it once and say it now, shameless fluff, so good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royalrastafariannaynays/pseuds/Royalrastafariannaynays
Summary: He’s gazing at you, and resting his chin on one hand there at the breakfast table. 
  “What?” you ask.   “I’m so glad to be home,” he replies.   And yeah. Home.   At long last.   You feel a smile overtake all your features at once, oozing up through the creases like syrup from a tree.  He’s home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jellyfishmurderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfishmurderer/gifts).



> written as a pretty belated return christmas gift for my buddy cactus-dog over on the tumbles! sorry it was so late getting out, i hope you like it!!! <3 hehe

The slam of a car door out front wakes you up. 

There are birds chirping on the feeder in the backyard, the hum of the air conditioning, and the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the living room. Through your open bedroom door, you hear the dryer running. Snips and soft griping echo from the next door neighbor’s garden, where she’s planting this year’s perennials that will inevitably die with the second frost. 

It all almost lulls you back to your nap. 

There’s the sound of a trunk closing loudly, then, and another car door.

You stretch, trying to think past the veil of sleep in your eyes. 

It’s… there’s the car door sound, the trunk. Eh? 

He’s not supposed to be home until later, right? 

Yeah. 

Karkat’s plane doesn’t land until like, six pm. 

By then you’ll have had time to start dinner. So he’s got something nice and hot to eat when he gets home. After the last six months at sea, he’ll dig right in. He’ll eat it nice and slow, savor all the flavors. And a cake. You were gonna go pick up the cake from Jane around four. 

You’re drifting again, zoning back out into dreamland, thinking of the cake. Yeah, not too big, but big enough to have his name on it. And a little sugar flag stuck outta the top. She was gonna dye it. God knows Karkat likes the plainest flavors ever, so it was simple for her to put food coloring and make the pastry almost nauseatingly patriotic. 

It even plays a little tune. She had to order it special.

Just for Karkat. To make him laugh and smile. 

Just for Karkat. 

You drift out, back in a second later. 

There’s a jingle approaching the house. It’s a familiar jingle. 

Where did you hear that jingle before? 

How many more times can you fuckin’ say jingle?

It walks with a set of heavy footsteps past your old beat up Jeep. 

Blearily, and with a frown, you sit up. 

That jingle, so familiar. (one more time apparently)

Like a keychain, like something from your childhood? No, not that far. 

Muzzily, you wipe the dreams from your eyes, and scratch your belly as you curl back to yawn in the too-big bed. You look at the clock. 11am. Not knowing what the sound is picks at your frustration.

A little annoyed because you didn’t sleep for long even though it’s a nice day, you grumble. 

Its not as warm in the bed as usual, as the dog is at Jade’s for the next few days. You took the time off of your at-home job, and you want to spend some quality time with Karkat before the dog comes back. 

Jack is a Newfie. 

God knows why Karkat wanted a dog that big when he was still working his old job, and the two of you were saving up for a house. But the dog comes with you when you go to photograph events that are held outside, and is extremely well trained. Karkat was militant with Jack’s obedience classes.

It’ll be a whole event when they reunite. 

You’ll have to snap some really sentimental shots for him, of it all. He’ll love the shit out of that. Poor sad sap that he is. You’re a photographer, mostly freelance, though you have a website for weddings and events, and it pays pretty fucking well. Karkat, before his service, went to school to be an RN. His whole family has done some sort of Army or Navy, so that was his given legacy. But after the one tour, he’s home, and can pursue his other dreams. Kanaya is the top OBGYN at your local hospital, and got him a starting job right under her. He somehow got his registration while out on tour. 

Got no idea why you’re internally describing your future life, here. 

You yawn again.

At least the yard is well kept for whatever visitor you have. And you’ve been taking good care of Karkat’s massive succulents for the last four years. 

At the door, the jingle pauses. You can’t see the front yard from here, so you get up with another stretch, and a huff. Might as well answer the guest, right? You wave at the neighbor as you pass the curtains you bought two months ago, who’s now peering over their hedge. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

And, like the dutiful suburban army-husband you’ve come to be, minus the shitty kids and the picket fence and the bright white condo in Florida, you answer it. 

Opening the door is easy. 

Your prepared greeting for the day is at your mouth, and you’re halfway to announcing that your morgue is all out of vacancy, when the guest drops their duffle bag. 

Your eyes wrench from the duffle, up to the keychain in the half-extended hand. It’s your key. A little bell on the end from the shitty ornament you broke the first year you lived together. And a small plastic pocket watch, just the watch part. It stopped working a long time ago, you know. This year, actually. 

When you see finally get to their serious face, you feel such a rush of happiness you might have a goddamn stroke. 

You do freeze a little, even if the stroke is belayed. 

Karkat looks almost offended for a second as you try not to say anything or even breathe. You back up to let him in. And he does come in, warily, grabbing his luggage to toss into the foyer before stepping in through the closing door. 

You’re wrapped around Karkat before he can even say hello, or work up a frown at your odd behavior.

He coughs out a laugh, and you’re enveloped in arms, and smell, and the softened fabric of the old hoodie he probably changed into at the airport. 

“I guess you missed me,” he murmurs against your temple.

“You’re faking being taller, with those boots. Height complex much?” you laugh into his neck. 

“I think you just shrunk. Too much coffee,” he replies. 

And it’s so wonderful. 

It’s all the same. 

Any doubt you had about it still being the same, and okay, when he got back. It just vanishes. Karkat’s squeezing you so tight you think you hear something pop, and you turn to inhale at his shoulder. 

Your wedding ring glints in the early afternoon light. 

It was a rush wedding, right before he left. A single month before, to be exact. No guests, just a few close friends as witnesses. You had decided you didn’t want to wait.

And Karkat, even as he runs hands up and down your back, saying something probably stupid about getting inside and sitting down, smells so good. He smells like home. He smells like the cologne you would dab a touch of on his pillow when you were so goddamn pathetically lonely, he smells like travel, and sandalwood. 

Your hands squirm under his hoodie, even though you’re sure your fingers are cold.

Especially because you’re sure your fingers are cold.

And Karkat laughs, and tells you as much. 

The banter; the same banter you suffered through emails and rushed phone calls and snail mail because he’s that kind of a sap. The same banter you suffered through mailed presents and shitty one-liners every now and then. There were skype calls, sometimes.

But touching him, actually touching him. Having him here in your arms, in the half-lit front hallway of the house you bought together. It feels so satisfying, you could melt. 

God, if this is a dream, let the real thing be even half as good. 

“Hey, look at me,” Karkat says.

And reluctantly, you pull away from him. 

His fingers are on your chin, like one of those really cheesy movie gestures he loves. 

And he just. 

He pecks your lips, with the biggest, most tender smile he could probably muster. 

The sleep hasn’t entirely left your brain yet; you yawn against his mouth. 

Karkat snorts. 

“Thank God you don’t have a morning breath problem,” he says, and you smirk at him, before kissing him back. 

It’s almost like you’re kissing him for the first time, all over again. 

Neither of you have changed, but you almost have to re-learn the contours of his mouth, how he likes your fingers on the side of his neck.

Kisses like a moth landing, soft and sweet and dragging briefly. There’s no room for passion in this particular reunion. It’s just. Being there. Breathing each other’s air, absorbing the presence of your love in the room. 

It’s so warm and whole, glowing in your chest; rising and expanding. 

After a long time standing there, soaking it in, you eventually and reluctantly part. 

It’s the hardest thing, taking your hands away. But his eyes are so content, to be here with you. 

“You uh. Want some water?” you ask, tugging at his hand a bit before turning toward the adjacent kitchen. “I can order dinner out, so we don’t have to cook.” 

Karkat’s smile does cartwheels on the tops of his words. You’re not even looking and you can hear it. 

“I could cook for you,” he replies, “I’m not too tired for that. Besides, your cooking...” 

You turn and give him a face, halfway to reaching for the Brita pitcher. He raises his eyebrows at your indignant scowl. “Rose bought the pitcher for me, by the way.” 

“Besides,” you continue, grumbling at him in a way that’s entirely more characteristic of himself, and a little immature and whiny, “I took some cooking classes this summer, remember? I’m better now.” 

Karkat snorts. “That’s what you said, but I’ll believe it when I taste it.” 

You snort, too. You’ll give him that one. You did used to be pretty fucking bad. 

“I learned how to make paella real good,” you say then, and he actually perks up. Karkat Vantas, king of the stone face, perks up, looks like a kid even as his hand dwarfs the water glass you slide to him. “Was gonna save it for later, but I have all the ingredients if ya want some.” 

The last of the cracks from the stress of travel turn into laugh lines, and Karkat sits himself down on a barstool. He reaches out and pulls you in by the waist. After all, you remembered his favorite. His absolute favorite. You are the master. The master is you. 

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, leaning in to give you yet another peck on the lips. Ah yeah, that’s what that feels like. You remember that. 

For a moment, you’re so blessedly overwhelmed by happiness that you can’t breathe again. But you manage. “I love you too,” you whisper back. There’s no one else in here, but it feels like you’ve got a bubble. And if you make too much sound, it’ll burst and you’ll lose the moment. 

Karkat’s rough fingers twine through your hair, his thumbs frame your jaw, you can see the freckles in his eyes and his body is so hot and real against yours that you might – 

The blare of a leaf blower blasts the moment straight out of the water. 

Fuck you for leaving the windows open. 

Karkat snickers, kisses you until you’re melting a little, anyway, and then glances around. 

“New curtains?” he asks. It gives you leave to walk over and retrieve your own glass for some nice fresh H-two-Oh. 

“Yeah,” you reply, “Jade helped pick them out, since Rose would have just gotten me antiquated goth junk. You like?” 

It’s not too hopeful, you hope, when you ask him that. You know the bed will be unmade, and there are pillows askew on the couch, and there are dishes left in the sink from last night—you were gonna clean the house today. There’s a ton of dog hair in the corners, pushed by foot traffic on the wooden flooring. 

Karkat nods. “Yeah. You have good taste.”

Sighing with relief, you continue to putter around the kitchen. 

Taking his excitement as a sign, you start to get the ingredients out for making food. Some of them are prepped from yesterday, already. But there are a few vegetables to chop. 

Karkat sighs, and you glance back at him, Spanish saffron clutched in one hand. 

He’s gazing at you, and resting his chin on one hand there at the breakfast table. 

“What?” you ask. 

“I’m so glad to be home,” he replies. 

And yeah. Home. 

At long last. 

You feel a smile overtake all your features at once, oozing up through the creases like syrup from a tree.

He’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! hope everyone had a good read! hope you're having a great week, and you sleep well tonight! title is definitely an aerosmith reference. haha
> 
> lemme know if i forgot any tags! later guys


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